Mayhem
by Wild Magelet
Summary: So far, this is officially one of the worst days of Brigette's life. And she's had many a doozy. Finding herself trapped in the storage room of a bookstore on her first day of work? Bad. Finding herself plunged into a surreal world of mixed-up fairy tale
1. Trapped With The Ego

This is my first FanFic, and is just a quick start, but I intend to keep going with it, so I hope it's ok.  
  
Disclaimer: Any Shakespearean quotes are of course from Shakespeare, and there'll be basic fairy tale plots and classic characters, but maybe with a bit of a twist!  
  
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There had been many a bad day in the life of Brigette Copeland. Her father had left on her seventh birthday. To be precise, exactly half an hour before her grandmother had phoned to inform them that she was eloping with a gentleman who sold tickets for a circus in Western Australia, and was departing for parts unknown. As her father's battered suitcase – containing, as it later turned out, the family's stock certificates and bank cards – had disappeared through the front door, her brother had flown his remote-controlled airplane into her cake.  
  
Her boyfriend had decided that it wasn't her; it was him, on the same day that her grandmother had literally crashed back into her life. The man at the insurance company had commented that he didn't think anyone had ever driven through a garage door because an elderly woman on a unicycle suddenly rode, hooting, in front of them.  
  
Having been coerced into performing in the school play, Brigette had been in the process of opening her mouth to say her single – but pivotal, of course – line in the play when she'd tripped over Ophelia, hurtled into Polonius, elbowed Hamlet in the nose and fallen into the first row of the audience. Not two hours later, she'd been rushed to the hospital with acute appendicitis. The only thing that she could be thankful for, as she was wheeled through the waiting room, was that Hamlet's eyes were so swollen that he didn't see her.  
  
However, she could with perfect clarity and all honesty say that this was the single worst day of her life to date.  
  
The only thing worse, she reflected with irritation, than finding herself locked in the storage room of Barnes' Book Chest, was finding that she was locked in the storage room of Barnes' Book Chest with Stanley Porter. It was her very first day of work at the store – work that she had been more than thrilled to get, because jobs were scarce in the small town, and jobs that didn't involve scraping curdled grease or swiping the barcodes of nine hundred packets of cigarettes for the nine hundred residents of Bailey's Crossing were near impossible to obtain. It was strange that she'd never noticed the bookstore on the outskirts of town before. Stranger still that on the day she'd entered the dim interior of the extremely atmospheric little shop they would have a position open. Actually, five positions. She stared around at her fellow inmates, rolling her eyes as they skated over Stanley.  
  
Stanley Porter. More beautiful than the statue of David, twice as classically handsome and even colder to the core. With the brief exception of one drunken kiss at a high school graduation party – as to which, she still maintained that she had believed herself to be kissing the ice sculpture in the punch bowl – Brigette was one of the few girls around that wasn't a notch on Stanley's fantastically long belt. Stanley was one of those supremely irritating people that would probably glide through life on looks and charm alone, felling every second girl with one sexy, crooked smile. He wasn't from a wealthy background, far from it, but you would never know it by looking at him. Brigette wasn't sure how he afforded the clothes, the wine and the car surrounding his reclining leather seats, but she was fairly sure he hadn't earned it in a way that would make his mother proud. Currently seducing his way through a business degree, he was arrogant, selfish and lazy from his flint blue eyes to his expensive shoes, and a royal pain in the ass besides. Brigette didn't have a clue what he was doing applying for a job at a bookstore, especially taking into account the last piece of reading material – using the term loosely - she'd seen him with, and could only concede that this was the universe laughing squarely in her face.  
  
She glanced over at her second co-worker, who caught her eye and sent her a bright, cheerful smile. Brigette couldn't help smiling back. Irene Miller's grin gave new meaning to the word 'infectious.' She was one of those few people in the world who don't hide behind some kind of artifice, and although she and Brigette had never been close friends, they'd known and liked each other since kindergarten. Irene's ex-boyfriend, teachers and mother all described her as "beautiful, bubbly and brainless," which Irene didn't seem to mind in the least. Brigette had never seen the exuberant blonde listless or bitchy – she really was one smiling, bouncing bubble. However, while she might never win the Nobel Prize, Irene often stunned the casual observer into silence by publicly indulging her penchant for Shakespeare. She'd devoured the plays since childhood, and, whether she understood them or not, could without fail produce an appropriate quote for every circumstance. She'd also had the misfortune of playing Ophelia in the production during which Brigette gave her memorable theatrical debut.  
  
Camille Verey, a tall leggy brunette, was lounging on a desktop and trying to sit in a position where Stanley couldn't see down her blouse. Brigette didn't know Camille well. Despite the small size of their town, and even smaller size of the school they'd both attended, their paths hadn't crossed much. From what Brigette could tell, Camille was something of an over- achiever. A top athlete, brilliant student and computer whiz, she had always seemed nice enough, but somewhat aloof.  
  
Lastly, Brigette's gaze fell on the fifth new staff member at Barnes. He was new in town, at least, she'd never seen him before today. She didn't think natural curiosity was the reason that her eyes kept going back to him though. From the moment that they had first seen each other by the historical section of the bookstore that morning, she'd felt a strange connection with him, like invisible fibres tugging them together. He was tall, but not particularly good-looking. However, even if he'd walked down the street beside Stanley, Brigette would have been willing to bet that most eyes would be drawn to the quietly good-looking Michael Readman. He was dark, like the walking ego preening near him, but that was where the similarities ended. Although his features were uneven and his face more rugged than pretty, his brown eyes were rich and bottomless and twinkling, as if he was always laughing at some inner joke. The corners of his mouth were perpetually turned up, and he seemed ready to break into a smile at the slightest provocation, as indeed he did. In the few short hours that they had known each other, there hadn't been a huge amount to smile about, and yet, the mesmerizing dimple in his left cheek rarely disappeared from sight...  
  
...Brigette mentally shook herself. Well, really! If she didn't know better, she'd swear that she was developing a knee-shaking, eye-widening, jaw- locking crush. And Brigette Copeland did not get crushes. Well, there had been that one on that darn fine-looking postman when she was eight or so, but other than that...no.  
  
So, here they were. While an uninformed person might wonder at how five seemingly intelligent young people could have, by the end of their first day of work, locked themselves in the world's mustiest storage room, it was really quite simple. Or rather, mind-numbingly stupid. And all Stanley's fault, of course. Before Mr. Hopkins, the tiny slightly unusual owner of the store had left them – apparently for five minutes, although he hadn't yet returned, and that was over five hours ago – he'd taken care to mention that the lock on the storage room door was faulty and that if they were to go in there, they should be careful not to shut the door behind them. Clear, concise instructions. However, Stanley being the lazy sod that he was, he had been the last to join them in the downstairs room to help sort boxes of old books. And because Stanley was...well...Stanley, five hours later, they were all still trapped in a room that smelled of dust, nasty "manly cologne" and something that Brigette very much suspected had come out of a cat. Every time that Brigette looked around the storage room, it looked smaller. She wasn't claustrophobic, thank goodness, but suffering from Stanley-phobia was bad enough. Unfortunately, tempting though it might be to whack him over the head with a dictionary that looked as if it might have been the original prototype next time that he pinched her ass, she was trapped in an enclosed space with three witnesses.  
  
Although Stanley had made a sketchy attempt to do some work for about fifteen seconds, the rest of them had valiantly battled on amidst the dust clouds for a further two hours, before giving up and flopping onto various cartons, antique pieces of furniture, or piles of yellowing books.  
  
"Do you think he's actually coming back?" Camille asked, somehow managing to still look unruffled, despite the oppressive mugginess of the room.  
  
Brigette shrugged. "It's been five hours. And since everyone says that there's no one to miss them until Monday at least, if he doesn't come back, we'll be in here all weekend."  
  
Stanley blinked and sat up, "No way, man. I have a date tonight."  
  
"Well, maybe if you'd been listening to Mr. Hopkins, and hadn't shut the damn door, we could all get off to our dates tonight," Camille told him coldly.  
  
Stanley twisted back to look up at her, "You have a date tonight?" he queried, making no attempt to cover his skepticism. "Shut up, Stanley," Camille returned, without any venom.  
  
Looking over at her, Brigette wondered if Camille ever lost her temper. After six hours in this glorified cupboard, Brigette was tired and dusty and thirsty and hungry, and if Stanley winked at her one more time, she was going to take her pencil and... But Camille continued to remain serene and untroubled. It should have been reassuring under the circumstances; it was better than having a hysterical person to deal with, but for some reason it was starting to irritate Brigette. And she was beginning to have the horrible feeling that if anyone was going to get hysterical, it would be her. She glanced over at Michael instinctively and met his gaze. He was watching her, his eyes gentle, and she inexplicably felt better when she saw his smile.  
  
Something was digging into her hip. A book. Surprise, surprise. She was sitting on a heap of them, after all. Making a rueful face, she reached beneath her back and began tugging at the offending object.  
  
"Well, at least there's plenty to read!" Irene said, brightly. She still looked cheerful and optimistic, and the faintly worried look on her face enhanced her overall cuteness, and made her look vaguely like something out of a Beatrix Potter novel.  
  
"Reading!" snorted Stanley derisively, "There's only one thing I planned to get into tonight, and it wasn't a good book." He chuckled at his own wit. The others simultaneously rolled their eyes.  
  
"Am I the only one who finds this shop a little creepy?" Camille asked, looking around at them, "Like we're on the set of a bad horror movie, or something?"  
  
"Nope," Michael agreed, "and when I came to the town with my dad last month to look around before we moved, I swear I don't remember this place. But we must have driven past it, and it looks like it's about a hundred years old, at least."  
  
Irene shivered. "Ok, you're all giving me the creeps now. Please, can someone read out loud or something? I'm sure I saw a volume of..."  
  
"Not Shakespeare!" everyone chorused in unison.  
  
Irene frowned at them, "No appreciation of art, that's all. Be not afraid of greatness," she quoted.  
  
"It's going to be a long night," Camille groaned, flopping back onto the desk.  
  
Michael flipped through some of the bound volumes scattered haphazardly around Stanley's 'work' area.  
  
"They all seem to be mostly old textbooks and bound historical documents," he commented. Brigette finally worked the book that was bruising her side free, and held it up.  
  
"Hey, fairy tales!" she said, "I haven't read a fairy tale for ages."  
  
Irene shrugged. "Why not? It ain't Shakespeare, but it's better than listening to Stanley whining. Go ahead."  
  
"Hey..." Stanley's petulant tones were cut off short as Brigette opened the ancient book.  
  
A sharp breeze blew past her face and swirled around the features of the others.  
  
"That's weird," said Camille, "There's no window in here..."  
  
"That's weird too," said Brigette, "The pages are blank."  
  
"Annoying," said Irene, "I wanted hear onnnnnnnnnne,"  
  
Brigette stared at her in confusion. She could still see Irene's mobile mouth moving, but the words were coming out so slowly that each syllable was elongated. She blinked as her body took on a curious weightlessness. Irene's blonde hair, the blue chips of Stanley's eyes, Camille's face and Michael's dimple blended into a blur as the room became a swirling techni- coloured vortex. There was no time to be afraid or shocked or amazed. With the effect of a rocket blasting into space, Brigette felt a hum in her ears that fast became a whine and then she was moving, spinning, flying. She could see her own hands, but they seemed to be far away from her face and traveling out of sight. The high-pitched sound in her ears reached an almost unbearable tone, only to suddenly drop away, the silence surprising in its intensity. Gleeful laughter and eerie cackling filled the sound gap, and she felt herself lifting and spinning up, up, up and she was being carried along and then she was falling. Colours were flying past her, blurred, and voices danced and sang around her head. And then she hit solid ground, and the turbulent sensations halted, and the quiet and the black were almost tangible. 


	2. Mayhem, Madness and Mermaids

I'm not sure about this chapter, so if you hate it, you may not be the only one! :P Anyway, I'm just going to spin out some excuses for myself, starting with the fact that I'm still trying to get into it, and it'll probably show in the writing. Thank you to SunGold16. My first review! I wasn't sure if I'd get any, so thanks a lot! :)  
  
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The first thing that Brigette registered as she drifted back to a state of comprehension was something which – rather bizarrely – sounded like birds. In fact, if she hadn't known for sure that she was in the storage room of a bookstore, she could have absolutely sworn that she was flat on her back in the outdoors. Rather than the sharp edges of ancient books digging into her spine, she instead now seemed to be cushioned on what felt curiously like grass. All of which was, of course, impossible.  
  
She was feeling rather relaxed and mellow and, pretending that it really was the sun that shone red behind her eyelids, she was strangely reluctant to open her eyes and destroy this wonderful, serene illusion. Although, to be frank, she was also feeling a little confused.  
  
She must have fallen asleep, she decided firmly. She vaguely remembered some kind of dream where she'd falling and flying and turning. A brief impression of colours – vivid, intense colours – and the lingering remnants of unfamiliar laughter playfully teased at the edge of her mind. What had she been doing?  
  
Unpacking boxes of books...trapped in Barnes because of Stanley's minute brain and inflated ego...Michael...Camille...Michael...Irene...Michael. She smiled to herself, thinking of dimples and eyes of such a deep brown that she felt she could see into his most inner thoughts...fairy tales! The thought broke in without welcome, disturbing her and snapping her out of her fantastical musings. She frowned suddenly. Fairy tales...  
  
What was it about those two words that bothered her so much? She loved fairy tales. She'd always loved fairy tales. Even when she'd attended the performance of Cinderella given by her grandmother and various other members of the 'Belly Dancing for the Young at Heart' troupe, she'd still loved the story. Rubbing the frown away from her brow, she tried to remember.  
  
"I like fairy tales," she mused aloud, "I like fairy tales...I love fairy tales...but...I don't know. Why do fairy tales suddenly bug me?"  
  
"I have no idea," countered an unfamiliar voice chirpily, "But if that's true, you're really not going to like this situation."  
  
Brigette rocketed upward.  
  
"Oh my...what? Oh my G-...what!?...I don't...huh? Shit!" she finally finished, stuttering.  
  
The girl seated cross-legged before her nodded. "Coherent," she said, grinning.  
  
Brigette opened her mouth and found that this time her voice had fled completely. Probably from the embarrassment of its last attempt at speech. She gave up on the vocal skills, and instead focused her wide gaze on the rather unusual – to say the least – scene before her.  
  
It seemed that her first impressions were correct. It was definitely grass that she now plucked fitfully at with nervous fingers. It was in fact the sun that warmed her face and arms with a gentleness completely at odds with the turbulence of her thoughts. And she could still hear what appeared to be birds coming from a woodland area to her left. And there ended any sense of normalcy or familiarity.  
  
It was as if the outdoors had been erased and then repainted by a Disney artist. Putting aside the fact that she had no idea how she had come to be outside or why outside looked nothing like Bailey's Crossing – questions which, were they to be dwelled upon, would no doubt result in her running in circles all over this nice green grass and drowning out the pretty bird songs with hysterical screaming – she had never known outdoors anywhere to look quite like this.  
  
Colour. Colour everywhere. Used to the dullness of overclouded days and the thin veneer of smog that usually hung for endless horizons, Brigette's eyes were actually watering from the sight which greeted her. The sky was blue, yes – but startlingly, mesmerisingly, perfectly blue. There were no clouds, no smog...and no toy airplanes droning along, looking to crash into the back of innocent people's heads. The grass was finely cut and richly green. The sun's rays skated along the clear flat lake and golden path to her right.  
  
Not so far in the distance – or maybe it was further than it looked, because everyone looked strangely...small – throngs of people clustered around a group of equally small looking buildings and pushed tiny carts and munched on miniscule apples.  
  
"Hey!" the same voice interrupted her jumbled thoughts. The girl peered at her streaming eyes anxiously. "I know that this must be a real shock to you and all, but you don't have to cry about it."  
  
"Wh-...oh," Brigette swiped at her eyes with both hands. She turned her gaze onto her mysterious companion.  
  
Long red hair falling about her waist and over her thighs, the girl met Brigette's rude stare with huge calm green eyes. She was pretty, in the same surreal way as everything else in this bizarre dream – which it must be, because there was no way that Brigette was actually looking at someone who was hovering at least two inches above the ground.  
  
Just when it seemed that this experience – be it sleeping or waking – could not get any stranger, she was startled to hear her own voice return clearly and steadily.  
  
"My grandmother would kill to be able to do that," she informed the levitating stranger.  
  
They both blinked.  
  
Then the girl laughed. It was a deep, throaty guffaw – quite unlike the delicate silvery peal that Brigette might have expected had it occurred to her to do so.  
  
"I'm Ariel," she said, extending a hand towards Brigette.  
  
Brigette clasped it without thinking. As she touched the other girl's warm skin, she realized with stunning clarity that this wasn't a dream; that she really was sitting here, holding the hand of redhead with an aversion to gravity. In this curiously perfect place that could be in another country or world or dimension for all she knew. And as she heard Ariel introduce herself, the reason why she was suddenly so bothered by the thought of fairy tales came back to her. Crashingly. The book – the blank book of fairy tales. Opening it, and then...  
  
She looked up at Ariel.  
  
"How did I get here?" she asked, inwardly wondering why on earth she wasn't freaking out.  
  
"Through the Book," Ariel told her cheerfully, confirming what her mind was still reluctant to grasp at.  
  
Brigette nodded.  
  
"Right. Good. Ok, if you don't mind, I may freak out now."  
  
She opened her mouth to give a piercing scream, only to have Ariel slap a hand over it quickly.  
  
"Sorry," she said, shrugging, "But you'll scare the shit out of the gnomes if you do that."  
  
Brigette wasn't sure which point she was more surprised by: the fact that she was apparently inside a book of fairy tales, the mention of gnomes or that a fairy tale creature was using profanity in such an easy, practiced way.  
  
And she was pretty sure that this was a completely inappropriate time to be wondering if Mr. Hopkins would pay her extra for what could probably be classified as overtime.  
  
"Shit?" she asked, vaguely, deciding to follow up on the point that apparently fairy tales weren't as G-rated as she'd been led to believe.  
  
"Ew! Where?" Ariel asked, peering underneath her and around the grass. "Probably Snow White's damn dog again."  
  
"No, I meant...Snow White?...never mind," Brigette subsided into silence.  
  
"You know," Ariel said, patting her companionably on the shoulder, "You're really taking this awfully well. Far better than most of the others."  
  
Others? Oh my God! The final sleepy part of Brigette's brain kicked into action, and she then kicked herself in fury. What was the matter with her?  
  
"My friends? Are they here too? Are they alright? Have you seen them? Where are they? Is Michael still hot?" she paused, wondering if she'd actually said that last part aloud. "Ummm..."  
  
Ariel giggled in delight.  
  
"I can say a very enthusiastic yes to the last part, and they're all fine, I promise. I'll take you to them soon."  
  
Brigette nodded, and then blurted without thinking, "Isn't Ariel the name of the Little Mermaid?"  
  
Ariel literally came down to earth with a thud, and scowled.  
  
Sighing, she groaned, "I have GOT to change my name one of these days. Don't even get me started on that mermaid crap. I could kill that little twerp, I really could. I mean, come on! I had a skin condition! I was a teenager. It was flipping ECZEMA, not scales!"  
  
Brigette blinked. "I...you...what?"  
  
"Artistic license, my ass!"  
  
Brigette leaned slightly away from Ariel.  
  
"I mean, really!"  
  
Brigette looked around, and tried to tactfully give Ariel privacy to continue ranting.  
  
"MERMAID, for fudge's sake!"  
  
Brigette ducked Ariel's flailing arm and glanced over at the woodland area. A person moved out from the shadows of the trees, and edged towards them, warily eyeing an increasingly cross Ariel.  
  
Brigette's mouth dropped open.  
  
"Mr. Hopkins?!" 


	3. Big Feet and Reunions

Thank you for the reviews, guys! I really appreciate it. In reply to SunGold, you're not dumb, lol, I re-read it and it's not all that clear. I was kind of imagining Ariel sitting cross-legged and just hovering above the ground in a mysterious, magical way. Not really relevant, important or interesting, just a girl levitating in mid-air. :)  
  
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The small wizened man artfully stepped around Ariel's outrage, and smiled at Brigette.  
  
"I realise that this probably all seems a little strange to you," he said in his deep, gentle voice.  
  
When trapped in a book of fairy tales with no idea how to get home, fall back on sarcasm.  
  
"Well, why would it?" she asked in falsely jovial tones, "I mean, you'd be surprised how often this happens to me. Next week, I may just take a little jaunt inside a Harry Potter book. Or maybe something by Shakespeare. What do you think?"  
  
Sarcasm was quickly rising into hysterics.  
  
There was a pause, during which she and her former boss – because this had definitely not been in the job description – stared at each other.  
  
"Are you finished?" he finally queried politely.  
  
"Yes," Brigette mumbled lamely.  
  
By this time Ariel had fallen silent, and now smiled at Mr. Hopkins.  
  
"She's really taking it awfully well, Wizz," she told him, patting Brigette encouragingly on the shoulder.  
  
"Wizz?" Brigette asked, looking from Ariel to Mr. Hopkins in confusion.  
  
"Arthur Hopkins," he said, "but many people around here just call me Wizz."  
  
"Oh," said Brigette. Then: "Why?"  
  
"Oh, it's all a matter of politics," Ariel replied airily.  
  
"Politics?"  
  
"Politics."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Mr. Hopkins...Wizz...interrupted this scintillating exchange of dialogue.  
  
"I'm not sure how much Ariel has told you, Brigette," he began.  
  
"Very little actually," Ariel broke in, slightly shame-faced, "I...uh...got a little carried away when she mentioned...mermaids."  
  
Both syllables of the last word were enunciated with loathing.  
  
Silence ensued for several seconds more, and Brigette shuffled uncomfortably. A low growling sound broke the still air, and she stiffened.  
  
"What was that?! A wolf? A bear? Oh my God, I'm going to be eaten alive by The Three Bears..."  
  
Wizz cleared his throat.  
  
"Er...I think that was your stomach."  
  
Brigette paused and looked down at her abdomen. It rumbled again in agreement.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"But it's good to see that you can keep a level head in a dangerous situation," Ariel jibed, grinning.  
  
She was levitating again, in an upright position this time, bare feet dangling in mid-air.  
  
"Can you walk on the ground too?" Brigette asked curiously.  
  
Ariel thought for a moment.  
  
"Probably," she mused, "But I never do, so I really couldn't say for sure."  
  
"Because you think it's beneath you as a magical being?" Brigette pondered, secretly rather impressed with her own ingenuity.  
  
"No," Ariel responded calmly, "Because I'm lazy and I have feet the size of melons."  
  
"No, you d-" Brigette started to refute in her new friends defense, looking down at the feet in question. Her voice tailed off.  
  
"Yes," said Ariel defensively, "Exactly."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Stop looking at my feet already!" "Sorry."  
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
This last uttered in a patient tone by Wizz.  
  
"Home?" Brigette asked hopefully.  
  
"Not yet, no," Wizz replied enigmatically, "But if you still wish to return home after, then no one will stop you."  
  
"After what?"  
  
"But she can't leave!" Ariel cried, turning to Wizz.  
  
"After what?!"  
  
"We can't force anyone to help, Ariel,"  
  
"Help with WHAT?" Brigette asked loudly, just barely resisting the urge to childishly stamp her foot. "What's going on? Why did you bring me here?"  
  
"All will be revealed shortly."  
  
Brigette huffed out an irritated breath. It was completely odd that she was predominantly feeling slightly miffed and tetchy right now. If anyone had ever brought up the scenario of being flung into a living world of fairy tales – which of course they would not, because it was completely absurd – then she would have been almost certain that she would by now be huddled on the ground rocking back and forth.  
  
Not searching the terrain around her, out of sheer frustration, for an object that she could use to biff a tiny little man over the head.  
  
And for someone who was about two feet tall, he sure walked awfully quickly.  
  
Brigette sped up her pace, and huffed alongside him.  
  
"Where did you say we were going again?"  
  
"I didn't."  
  
"Right."  
  
She looked around her in fascination as they crossed over onto a path paved with white bricks. Small houses were scattered around the grassy meadows, and doors of red and green and yellow were set into the occasional tree. Where their occupants were, however, she had absolutely no idea.  
  
Ariel followed her gaze.  
  
"Oh, they're probably hiding," she explained, "They're a little nervous of non-fairy folk."  
  
Brigette looked at her quickly.  
  
"Other humans have been here? Other than my friends, I mean?"  
  
Ariel's eyes flashed and she looked thoroughly disgruntled briefly, but, catching Wizz's eye, she covered up her annoyance with a bright smile.  
  
"One or two," she said vaguely, and pointed at something to their left. "Look at that!"  
  
Brigette looked.  
  
"It's a tree."  
  
"Yep. And it's tall."  
  
"Ok..."  
  
"And leafy."  
  
Apparently the topic was closed.  
  
*****  
  
"Wow."  
  
In some circumstances, it really was the only appropriate word. Such as walking in on your grandmother doing jazzercise in a thong. Or discovering that your mother was getting remarried for the sixth time to a man who'd rung the doorbell that afternoon, selling vacuum cleaners.  
  
Or finding yourself standing before a real, honest-to-goodness fairy tale castle.  
  
Brigette stood before the drawbridge and gazed up, past the ivory coloured stone walls, and the turrets and the flags. She craned her neck as far back as it would go, gaping at the four towers that stretched and seemed to blend into the seamless sky.  
  
Wow.  
  
Ariel laughed at her stupefied wonder and slack-jawed admiration.  
  
"Yeah, it is pretty beautiful, huh?" she agreed.  
  
Brigette nodded wordlessly.  
  
*****  
  
Following Wizz and two friendly-faced guards in full suits of armour down a high-ceilinged hallway, lined with portraits of good-looking royals who might have been posing sitting on tacks, if their expressions were anything to go by, Brigette had no idea what she had expected to find behind two of the largest, most majestic doors she'd ever seen in her life.  
  
However, as two more of the guards...knights perhaps...pulled them open for her and she barely resisted the urge to curtsy just for the heck of it, she reflected that whatever she might have expected, it was certainly not Camille Verey seated on a red velvet chair and soundly beating a footman at chess.  
  
Brigette had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.  
  
Camille evidently did not share her grateful sentiments.  
  
She looked up frowningly from her chess board massacre and her scowl deepened.  
  
"Oh," she said, "It's you, Brigette."  
  
Well, all right. Brigette hadn't been expecting Camille to throw herself sobbing into her arms...exactly...but this was a lot colder than the reception she'd thought she'd get on being reunited with her companions.  
  
She opened her mouth to say something witty and scathing.  
  
"Um. Yeah, it's me."  
  
Nice one, Brigette.  
  
Camille got up from her seat.  
  
"Is it ok if we finish this later?" she asked the exhausted looking footman.  
  
"Fine!" he said too quickly, mopping sweat from his brow with a crumpled handkerchief.  
  
Brigette could empathize. She'd once played tennis against Camille on a school sports day. The imprint of the ball had still been etched into her forehead a week later.  
  
Camille walked over.  
  
"Ok," she said, without preamble, "I know that on a logical level I shouldn't blame you for the fact that we're all ensnared inside a book of fairy tales. After all, it could have been any of us who opened it. It wasn't, it was you, but that was only a matter of chance."  
  
"Right," agreed Brigette whole-heartedly.  
  
"However, the less rational part of me is hungry and confused and more than a little freaked out here, so if I'm less than nice to you in the next little while, it's probably because I'm silently screaming 'this is all your fault!' in my head. I'll work on it. Ok?"  
  
"Ok," Brigette said, blinking at the speed with which words were flying out of Camille's mouth.  
  
"Ok, good." Camille looked her over. "I'm glad you're ok, though."  
  
"Thank you." Brigette said faintly, "Same here."  
  
"Where did you wake up?"  
  
"In a field. It was very peaceful. Until I heard Ariel speak, and just about had some sort of fit."  
  
"Yeah. Me too. Except for the Ariel part."  
  
"Who found you?"  
  
"A wolf. I felt something licking my face."  
  
"Oh my...did you freak out?"  
  
"No, not really. To be honest, I was pretty relieved."  
  
"Relieved? Why?"  
  
"I originally thought it was Stanley."  
  
There was a brief silence and then the two of them broke into giggles. 


End file.
